“What—”
Without much care, he plowed into her existing breakfast, nearly sending everything off the desk as he forced the tray in front of her. If the bowl of oatmeal had been glass, it would have shattered. Instead, it wobbled back and forth before keeping upright in its Styrofoam confines.
Shocked, her gaze shot up to Isaiah’s. He met it with a grin.
“What’s this?”
A dark eyebrow rose, a teasing gesture she’d missed. “It’s food, but I can see how that would confuse you considering the crap you’re eating now.”
Her scowl earned a wide smirk from him. “I can’t have this. My diet—”
“Is crap!” he retorted seamlessly. “If you lose any more weight, you’ll disappear.”
Her frown deepened. Her fingers reached for her bowl of oatmeal, but with movement that was no more than a blur, he was around her, snatching it out of reach. Then, in a single fluid flick of his wrist, he dumped the lot into the trash basket, bowl, spoon and all.
“Isaiah!” Her shriek was joined by the squeal of her chair legs scraping across the hardwood floor as she lunged to her feet. But it was too late. The damage had been done. Her breakfast lay in a lumpy, soggy mess at the bottom of the empty trash bin. “What are you doing?” she cried, turning on Isaiah.
His smile was smug now. “There she is.” He nimbly dodged the kick she aimed at his shins and twisted around her. “Don’t tell me you had your heart set on eating that garbage when I brought you all your favorites.” To prove it, he scooped up a spoonful of eggs and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed lavishly, rolling his eyes upwards and making a very guttural moaning sound.
Amalie’s stomach whimpered. Her mouth salivated, but her eyes were fixed on his lips and not the food getting devoured. She’d never really forgotten how firm and lush they were or how they always bowed a little more on the right then the left when he smirked. But she sure had tried. She had tried with all her might to forget the sight of them, the feel and warmth of them against hers, against her skin. She had thrown up walls of stone, and bars of steel up to block memories away, memories that were now flooding her, drowning her in urges she shouldn’t have. Her heart hurt. Her fingers itched, almost reaching before she curled them around her skirt, bunching the fabric with all her might.
Stop looking! Stop looking! The voice in her head all but whined, echoing the torment coursing through her with the vengeance of a shark cutting through an ocean of blood. But every deliberate movement of his jaw had her stomach muscles seizing and her lungs hitching. Her own bottom lip was caught viciously between her teeth, half to contain the moan threatening to spill and half to keep from taking his mouth hostage with hers. A warm shiver rocked through her, obscuring all rational thought beneath a heavy veil of dizzying fog. It was because of this that it took her a moment too long to realize he’d stopped chewing, stopped moving, stopped breathing and was staring at her as if the eggs no longer held any appeal.
Mortified, Amalie dropped her gaze. Rivers of heat rolled up her neck to flood her face. The back of her eyes burned with it. She turned away.
“Amalie…”
She flinched away when his fingers lightly grazed the skin of her elbow. “Don’t.”
“You can’t do that!” he said after her when she moved to the terrace, putting as much distance between them as humanly possible without leaving the room. “You can’t…” he trailed off. She glanced back to find him also looking over his shoulder at the only other person there with them.
Derek missed Isaiah’s death glare completely while he stared absently at his knees, giving them all the privacy he could.
Isaiah turned back to Amalie, caught her eyes. His features softened. He went to her.
“You can’t look at me like that and then shut me out!” he said in a low whisper that she was sure Derek could hear perfectly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to her feet. “I didn’t mean—”
He reached over and gently took skimmed the lengths of her arms with his fingers, going down until he had her hands in his. She stiffened, torn between jerking away and accepting the contact. It had been so long since she’d been touched by someone she actually wanted touching her and even now, feeling his warmth, his skin ghosting hers, it felt so natural, so right. She didn’t want him to stop and still she stepped away.
“I’m not angry,” he murmured, eating the single foot she’d placed between them until he was nearly on her feet, until he had devoured all her air and consumed every ounce of sanity keeping her together. “I just…” he sighed, washing her cheeks with his warm breath. “I miss you, Ams.”
It was his confession that had her will to resist crumbling and her hands trembling when he took them in his. His fingers tightened when she tensed again.
“Please don’t.” Her voice caught. She bit her lip, turning her face away.
He caught her chin, trapping her, forcing her to falling into eyes that had haunted her for over a year. “Don’t what? Miss you? Want you? Need you? Touch you?”
Every drop of moisture in her mouth evaporated and she was left cotton mouthed and desperate. “Yes!” She pushed him away, needing space…air, to think. “Yes!” she said again. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”
He shook his head slowly, dazzling blue eyes never leaving hers. “Forget it.” He regained his place much too close to her. His fingers were warm on her shoulders. They slipped up the slope to bracket her throat, burning her skin, making her gasp. His thumbs smoothed the curve of her chin, tipping her face so he could trace the folds of her parted lips. “I was stupid enough to make the mistake of leaving once.” He dropped his face so their lips were in danger of touching. “But you better believe it will never happen again.”
Chapter 22
Isaiah
The echoing hollowness seemed to reverberate through the creases of his very soul like the rolling agony a burn victim felt after every fiber of his body was scorched to the bone. The persistent throbbing crippled his steps, making each staggering motion feel like his last. It was the reason he was no longer walking, no longer making the agonizing journey to…where was he going?
He raised his head from his raised knees and was momently disorientated by his surroundings. It was one of the corridors, but he couldn’t tell which from where he sat crouched in the corner between a large vase and a small table. He couldn’t even recall getting there or slipping to the ground. His head was thrumming, a steady pulse that threatened to bring his breakfast back up with its insistent chiseling into the cavity of his skull. There was a vague recollection that he’d already done that the second he’d left Garrison’s office. His tender stomach muscles and the stench of vomit on his breath attested to the faint memory. But how had he gotten from there to here? The blind journey made no connection with his mind and he gave up trying. What did it matter now anyway? His life was officially at a bleak end. Maybe that was a bit dramatic, but what else was he supposed to think when he had to face the girl he loved and tell her he could no longer be with her?
His gut wrenched and he had to force his eyes closed to stopper the bile rising in his throat.
How could this be possible? How had he not have seen it coming? How could he lead Amalie on like this only to…God, how was he going to tell her? How was he going to look into her eyes and say those words, those lies?
A low, animalistic whine left his throat as he grounded the heel of his hands into the back of his eyelids. The grit there surprised him. There were tear tracks down his face and damp stains on his shirt. When had he cried?
He dropped his arms, his mind returning on track.
There was nothing for it. He needed to see Amalie. She was waiting for him, waiting for him to come with good news, news of their future. Instead, he would be telling her they didn’t have a future.
Maybe he could take her and run. He could do it. He could get them both out of there. They could go somewhere far away. He’d join the forces, get a job somewhere on base so h
e could always come home to her at night. He could do it. He would. For her, he’d do anything.
And when you’re not around, who’s going to take care of her then? The mocking voice in his head asked. She needs around the clock supervision. You can’t give her that. And she needs medication and treatments. Can you really trust a stranger with her? Garrison is the only one who can really help her. He knows her, knows what needs to be done.
Maybe she’d be okay without that stuff, he thought stupidly.
No. There was no choice. Amalie needed to be here. She needed her father. How could he so selfishly take her away from the one place that kept her safe?
That’s when he realized it all boiled down to whether or not he trusted Garrison. Did he believe the other man could help Amalie? Did he believe Garrison could make her better? He had to, didn’t he? What choice did he have? No one knew Amalie’s symptoms like Garrison did. Taking her and fleeing, as tempting as it was, would only hurt her in the end, hurt Garrison. He owed the man too much to stab him in the back like that. He loved Amalie too much to deprive her of the chance.
She was nowhere in sight when he staggered into the gardens. The sun was blinding, sharp needles piercing his eyes, making them wince and water. He blinked, turning his eyes to the quiet grounds.
“Amalie?” her name was a mere whisper on his lips, too afraid she’d appear, too afraid he would have to tell her and lose her so quickly if he spoke any louder.
Not even a bird chirped. The silence was thick, almost eerie.
“Am—”
Soft, cool fingertips closed over his eyes from behind, the tiny body straining against his back to reach. His ears were filled with the melodious tinkle of laughter.
“Guess who!” Hearing her voice crushed the last fragments of his heart. “Go on,” she prompted. “Guess!”
He closed his eyes, physically hurting. “Amalie—”
“Wrong!” She giggled. “Guess again.”
He closed his fingers around her delicate wrists and pulled her hands away from his face. He turned to her.
Her eyes were wide, dancing with light and happiness. She smiled at him, oblivious to the pain he was about to cause her. She turned her hands, breaking his hold on her wrists to thread her fingers through his, meshing their palms together. She stepped in close so he had no choice but to drown in her sweet scent.
“Did you talk to him?” she asked, hope practically bubbling over in her voice. “Did he say yes?”
“Amalie…” How was he supposed to tell her when she was looking at him with blinding trust radiating off her in heat waves? “Yeah, I talked to him.”
Her smile stretched from ear to ear. He was surprised it didn’t rip her face apart. She bit her bottom lip as she bounced a little on the balls of her feet.
“And?”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. How was he supposed to say it?
“Ams…” Her name caught like barbwire in his throat. “I didn’t ask him,” he muttered.
Her smile faded. Confusion wrinkled her brows. “What? Why?”
It took every ounce of will to shake her hands off him. It took even more strength not to grab them back when the confusion melted into hurt in her eyes.
“Because I didn’t want to.”
Her hands were shaking. He could see it as she wiped them on her dress. “Why?” The question was barely a whisper, yet it was drenched in fear.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to think of a way to say it without hurting her and without exposing that her father told him to. “I just got to thinking and it all seemed so rushed. We’re still young and there’s no hurry.”
She was looking down at her feet, but he could see the deep contemplation darkening her face even before she raised her eyes to him. “But you’re the one who—”
“I know!” He ruffled a hand back through his hair. “And it was a mistake.” The mistake was saying it was a mistake, especially when she stumbled back, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle the gasp. “I don’t mean it like that!” he said quickly.
She dropped her hands, her face ashen behind them. “Then what? What do you mean, Isaiah? Do you want to marry me or not?”
Yes! Every fiber of his body screamed at once. But his mouth moved and what came out was, “No.”
She could have used a rusted, serrated blade and carved out his heart and it would have hurt less than the tears that spilled from her eyes, or the look of betrayal and pain behind them. His automatic reaction was to scoop her into his arms and beg her to forgive him, to fall to his knees and tell her he didn’t mean it, and he came close to that when her bottom lip trembled and a choked sob escaped her.
He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t. He felt the crushing weight of insanity forcing him into madness and he knew he’d lose it if he stood there any longer.
Leaving her bathed in the warm rays of the sunlight, he stalked past her and half ran back to the manor. His own eyes burned with tears he fought to contain and was failing miserably.
“Isaiah!”
He hadn’t heard her running after him until she caught up to him on the stairs. Her hand closed around the hem of his shirt, forcing him to stop and turn.
“Where are you going?” She ran up the five steps separating them, until she stood on the step just above his. He kept his face down until he was sure the evidence of his pain was hidden.
“To get my bags.” He hadn’t realized that was his intention until the words left his throat.
She slicked her lips. “Your bags?” she croaked.
“I’m going back to the school,” he mumbled, feeling more and more in control now that he had something else to focus on, a plan.
“But…” Her hand lifted and rubbed against the center of her chest like there was an ache there that wouldn’t quit. “But you just got back! You just got home. You can’t go! Why are you going?”
Nearly succumbing to the need to replace her hand with his lips, Isaiah shoved around her and hurried up without answering her because he had no idea why.
She caught up to him and grabbed his wrist. “Isaiah! Talk to me, please! What did I do? I’ll fix it. I promise. I won’t ask you to marry me again. I won’t ask you for anything, just…” She sniffled, her voice catching on a sob. “Don’t go! Please don’t leave me.”
He didn’t turn. He couldn’t move. He was frozen on the step, paralyzed by the slice of white-hot agony that lanced through him. It was solely the lock of his knees that kept him from sinking where he stood.
“I have to,” he choked out, trembling from head to toe.
“Why?” she rasped, giving his arm a shake. “Why do you have to go?”
He turned again, hands balled. From his position on the step above hers, he had to look down, forcing her to look up to meet his gaze. She looked so broken, so small and fragile. Hurting her anymore would be like hurting a child or an injured animal. It was cruel.
“Just let it go, Ams,” he begged. “Just, please.”
She shook her head wildly. “I can’t. I won’t! I love you, Isaiah. You mean everything to me—”
He wrenched his arm free of her hold, letting his own self-hatred, his self-disgust color his voice. “Maybe that’s why! Maybe I don’t want to mean everything to you! Maybe I’ve grown up and need something more.” The lies were cutting, leaving irreparable gashes throughout his soul.
“Like what? I’ll do it!”
Why wouldn’t she let him go? Couldn’t she see this was already killing him?
“You can’t!” he growled.
“I can! Just tell me!”
With a snarl, his fist caught the wall. Pain shot through his hand and up his arm, but he felt nothing. “You can’t!” he roared. “I’m done with you so just let it go!”
“You don’t mean that.” But doubt had blossomed behind her eyes.
He leapt on it, needing something before he lost the thread of control keeping him together. “There’s someone else, Amalie. I don’t wan
t to be with you anymore,” he said it all quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
She didn’t move. He was almost certain she was no longer even breathing. There were no tears, just a frozen expression of shock, of horror. She stared at him as if he’d just declared she had a minute to live. For a moment, he feared she’d faint. His hands started reaching for her, prepared to grab if she so much as swayed. But she jerked back, nearly sending herself toppling backwards.
“You love someone else.” No emotion. Blank. Flat. It wasn’t even a question. It was said with a matter of fact, as if she expected it, as if it made perfect sense. “Is she normal?”
Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) Page 20